“Sit down, Jim,” said Joe. “Don’t you see they have the drop on us. I suppose it’s money you want?” he went on coolly, addressing the leader of the gang.
“No,” was the unexpected answer. “We’re not after money this time. We want a man named Matson.”
“I didn’t know I was so popular,” replied Joe jokingly, though the mention of his name in so ominous a way had sent a start through him. “My name is Matson, Joe Matson. What do you want of me?”
“Are you giving it to us straight?” asked the leader. “Are you Matson? How many men are there with you anyway?” he went on, peering into the tonneau.
“There are two of us,” replied Joe.
“Then get down in the road, both of you,” commanded the bandit. “I want to have a look at both of you so that there won’t be any mistake. My orders are for the man named Matson. No monkey work now!”
Joe and Jim, inwardly boiling but outwardly cool, got down into the road. As they climbed down, Joe’s hand nudged Jim ever so slightly. Jim knew what that meant. It meant to make no move until Joe gave the sign.
“Up with your hands!” ordered the leader curtly. “Bill, frisk them and see if they have guns.”
The bandit called Bill ran his hands along their bodies and reported that they were entirely unarmed.
“Now strike a match and let’s have a look at their faces,” was the next order.